


Give Delight (and Hurt Not)

by Phnx



Series: Tempest [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Guide Bitty, Guide Kent Parson, M/M, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Sentinel Tater, Sentinel/Guide, sentinel jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phnx/pseuds/Phnx
Summary: Kent’s official zone recoveries, the ones at the clinic where serious people with clipboards and white coats took notes and shook their heads disappointedly, those are at 0%.  But Kent’sunofficialzone recoveries, the ones where he and Jack were alone together, wrestling on the floor, cuddling on the couch, in bed… with those, Kent is nearly at a 100% success rate.100%, except for the one that really mattered.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson, Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Kent "Parse" Parson & Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson & Jeff "Swoops" Troy
Series: Tempest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697674
Comments: 26
Kudos: 110





	1. This Rough Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RogueMarieL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueMarieL/gifts).



> Prequel/Sequel to [Noises, Sounds, and Sweet Airs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229055). Fic and chapter titles are once again from _The Tempest_ for no particular reason other than that I wanted to.
> 
> For RogueMarieL, because Sentinel fic is amazing, and it's time she admitted it. <3

_"This rough magic I here abjure."_ — Act 5, Scene 1

The first thing that everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson is that he is not a fucking Guide, okay?

He went through all the mandatory testing in elementary school, and every single time his records were updated as _negative_ , _negative_ , _negative_.

So what if he showed up ready to play for the Q and had some fainting spell or whatever, and suddenly he knows what Jack Zimmermann is feeling and where he is? That doesn’t negate the decade of _scientific_ classifications of **baseline** that he’d received.

The second thing that everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson is that he maybe, just maybe, secretly believes in soul mates.

He knows in his head it’s all bullshit, he _knows_ that, but some stupid part of him can’t stop believing in One True Love, and he _hates_ it.

So when the team doctors all announced that he was compatible with Jack, so compatible that meeting him had driven his Guide powers out of latency, well… Maybe a part of him thought _compatibility_ meant something else. Maybe a part of him thought that the way Jack looked at him, touched him, kissed him meant something else.

And then Jack had his melt-down, and everyone was screaming at Kent, because that was exactly what Kent was supposed to be preventing, that was what he was _for_.

(Kent didn’t even know anything was wrong.)

What Kent learned from all of that was: (1) if he is a Guide, he’s a pretty shitty one, and (2) he may be very compatible with Jack, but Jack definitely isn’t his soul mate.

The third thing everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson is that he is extremely vindictive.

To be fair, most people already seem to have that one down pat.

\---

"And what do you think the Falconers’ chances of making the play-offs are this year now that they have Jack Zimmermann?"

This reporter must be new. Early on in his NHL career, Kent had developed a reputation for shutting down whenever Jack's name was mentioned, and most journalists gave up on trying to tease any information out of him a long time ago.

Kent smiles at the reporter, showing more teeth than were strictly necessary. "Oh, I don't think that's very likely, do you?" he asks sweetly.

The reporter seems surprised. "But—" he begins as all around, more experienced journalists turn toward them, scenting blood in the water.

"After all," Kent continues brightly, "for that, they'd have to beat _us_!"

He doesn't add, _Over my dead body_ , but the expressions on the journalists' faces tell him that they heard it anyway, loud and clear.

"Any other questions?" he asks.

The journalists swarm him.

\---

“Parson! Parson, over here!”

Kent skates over to where the assistant coach for the Caps is waving at him. He’s not used to the staff for the opposing team trying to talk to him during pre-game skate, and he suspects he isn’t going to like the reason they are now.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get any words out, the assistant coach grabs him by the arm and drags him off the ice, shoving blade guards at Kent. “He’s in here,” the guy says, barely walking slowly enough for Kent to hobble along beside him.

Kent is really, _really_ not liking where this seems to be going.

They end up in the Caps locker room, where the players are all crowded into one corner. The coach shoves them out of the way and ushers Kent forward. Once he’s through the wall of hockey players, he sees that Kutznetsov is curled up against the wall, eyes blank.

Everyone stares at Kent. He stares back.

“Well?” demands the assistant coach.

“Uh,” says Kent. “Looks like he’s zoned out.”

The assistant coach stares at him like he’s a total moron. Kent’s not sure he _isn’t_ a total moron, but he’s also not sure what he’s supposed to be doing here.

“Yes, yes,” says Ovechkin. “And you fix, yes?”

Kent boggles at him. “What, me? No!”

“You’re a Guide,” says the assistant coach. “It says so on your paperwork!”

Kent gives the coach a sweet smile. “Does it? Please tell me more about myself, I’m just agog.”

“Don’t be a little shit, Parson,” the assistant coach snarls back at him. “Kutzy is in fucking trouble. Are you seriously refusing to help him?”

“No, I’m not _refusing_ ,” Kent snaps. “I am _explaining_ to you that I don’t give a fucking shit what my _paperwork_ tells you, if I am a Guide, I’ve never been able to do anything with it! I have a zero success rate with helping anyone out of zones!”

The assistant coach looks at him in disgust. “The fuck good are you, then?”

“That is what I am trying to tell you!” Kent tries very hard not to scream.

“Wait,” says Ovechkin. “Think he wake up?” He says something softly in Russian, and Kutznetsov responds, sounding vague and dizzy, but conscious.

“Great,” says Kent brightly. “I’m heading back to the ice, now.”

Thankfully, everyone is too busy fussing over Kutznetsov to stop him from leaving.

As he stumbles down the hall in his skates, he decides that _this_ is Jack’s fault, too, and he intends to tell him so.

\---

The thing is, while Kent’s paperwork does indeed report that he has assisted in exactly 0% successful zone recoveries, that’s not really… _accurate_.

Zones are usually more common during late adolescence, but Kent and Jack didn’t know that. They just knew that Jack’s were getting worse, but it was probably the stress, right? Once they’d gotten through the draft, everything was going to settle down again. So it was better not to tell anyone, because they didn’t want to ruin Jack’s prospects by having him look unstable to the interested teams. And it didn’t matter, because Kent could pull him out of the zone, every single time.

Kent’s official zone recoveries, the ones at the clinic where serious people with clipboards and white coats took notes and shook their heads disappointedly, those are at 0%. But Kent’s _unofficial_ zone recoveries, the ones where he and Jack were alone together, wrestling on the floor, cuddling on the couch, in bed… with those, Kent is nearly at a 100% success rate.

100%, except for the one that really mattered.

\---

Getting lifted up with one arm by a Russian giant and shaken around until his head is spinning isn’t _really_ on his list of goals for the day, but Kent isn’t complaining or anything, because he met his real goal: game, set and match, fuckers.

Things Kent is never going to lose, an exhaustive list:  
1.) Any game against the Falconers  
2.) Anything else ever

It isn’t until Mashkov has been forced to drop Kent and is dragged away that Kent realises the spinning in his head isn’t all due to the mixology routine.

Mashkov is _pulsing_.

Well, fuck.

Kent skates up to Jack before he goes through the tunnel after the game and catches his arm to hold him back. Jack stops at his touch, but he doesn’t look at Kent.

Kent keeps his voice low. “Jack, have you noticed—I mean, I noticed a flare-up on the ice. Hearing, I think? You might want to have a Guide check out—”

“I have a Guide, Parse,” says Jack through gritted teeth.

Kent recoils slightly. Jack has never used that tone with him before, not even when things were at their worst, not even when _Kent_ was at his worst.

“I know,” Kent says after a moment. “I just meant—”

“If there’s anything wrong with me, he’ll know. He’ll know better and faster than you, and he won’t use it to his own advantage like a damn _rat_.” Jack snatches his arm out of Kent’s slack hold and heads into the tunnel, not looking back.

Kent spends an embarrassing amount of time staring at the closed door, too shocked to move.

Well, fine then.

Kent sneaks out as soon as he can, dodging his teammates so he can hide in an anonymous bar. His evening of drunken self-pity lasts all of ten minutes before Jeff slides into the booth across from him and gives him a long look.

“You wanna tell me what happened today?” Jeff asks, mild. “I can make some educated guesses about what happened _during_ the game, even if I don’t like it, but what was that with Zimmermann at the end?”

Kent has a lot of careless phrases he could say, but he bites them all back.

“I thought I felt Mashkov flare up,” he says, trying for nonchalant but probably just looking extremely uncomfortable. “I tried to tell Zimmermann, but he thought I was talking about him and got all defensive and shrugged me off. So whatever, I guess.”

“Yeah,” says Jeff. “I have no idea why he would respond like that to you after you just played the dirtiest game of your life in a desperate attempt to one-up him.”

Kent feels his face turn red. He scowls down into his bright-pink cocktail, not meeting Jeff’s eyes.

Jeff lets the tense moment stand, and then he lets it go. Just like that. Kent does not fucking deserve his team. “But that’s a big deal if you felt a flare, Cap,” he says. “Can’t let that slide under the radar, you know?”

Kent slumps over his drink. “I—” 

His phone lights up on the table, and he hesitantly unlocks it to read the message.

 **Jack Zimmermann** : Bitty says my hearing is fine.

Kent shoves his phone away in disgust. “How am I supposed to talk to this idiot?”

Jeff snorts. “That’s on you to figure out, man. But to help out Mashkov, you don’t need to.” He nods at a table in a quiet corner of the bar where a lone woman is drinking a giant beer while she messes with something on her phone. “See her? That’s George, from the Falconers management team. Just drop the news, and it’s all over.”

Kent looks at the woman. He considers asking Jeff to just tell her for him, and the thing is, Jeff would do it, and he would do it smoother and friendlier than Kent ever could.

But it’s not Jeff’s job to do this.

Kent sighs and shoves away from the table. “Watch my drink,” he tells Jeff. “Better yet, buy me a new one.”

The woman looks up as Kent approaches, and she stares him down with calm eyes, neither warm nor cold.

“Hi,” says Kent, flashing his most charming media grin. “I’m Kent Parson, better known as a hockey savant and the world’s shittiest Guide. I hear from my teammate that you work with the Falconers?”

George’s eyebrows go up, and she smiles very slightly. “That’s right.” She doesn’t introduce herself further. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Parson?” She waves her hand invitingly at the chair across from her.

Kent doesn’t sit.

“No, actually, but there _is_ something I can help _you_ with. Mashkov was flaring up during the game today. His hearing, I think.”

George’s eyes flash, but she hides her surprise very quickly.

“Now, as I already said, I am seriously the worst Guide ever, so maybe I was just imagining it or whatever, but you should probably get him checked out just in case. So I’m telling you, as is my sworn duty as a Guide.”

“I appreciate it,” George tells him seriously. “Tater’s due for a physical anyway—we’ll run him through some standard sensory tests as well, make sure everything checks out.” She quirks a small smile. “I doubt he’ll even notice to complain. You know how Sentinels get when we even _touch_ on the topic of their enhanced senses.” She raises an eyebrow at him, inviting him to share in the joke.

He ducks his head instead. “Yeah…” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know.”

\---

**Jack Zimmermann** : Wait, was it Tater you were talking about?  
 **Jack Zimmermann** : Docs say he checks out too though  
 **Jack Zimmermann** : Kent?

Kent scowls down at his phone. _I’m not fucking talking to you,_ he sends back.

Kit slides up against him and settles herself under his chin, purring. He sinks his fingers into her fur and stays curled up with her, watching as his phone lights up over and over again.

\---

For the first time in five years, Kent gets a text from Bob Zimmermann.

The Aces have just dropped out of the play-offs, and Bob’s text just reads _Sorry about the game._

It doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like too much.

Kent doesn’t respond until he’s watching Jack kiss his little blond boyfriend on national television after the cup finals, a montage of everything Kent had ever wanted.

Kent wonders what it’s like to be a Sentinel, to carry no one’s pain with you but your own.

He texts back, _Can’t win them all_ , and he hopes Bob doesn’t know what loss he’s actually referring to.

Bob doesn’t text him again.

\---

The summer promises to stretch on and long and tedious as ever. Kent sees his mom and his sister briefly, but they’ve both planned full summers, and anyway: Kent knows from experience that prolonged visits tend to end in screaming matches and tears. He has that effect on people.

He flips through solo vacation recommendations for a while, but eventually he gives up on that idea. He hates traveling alone, and what if Kit got lonely?

It’s June when he gets a call from Jack that he decides to finally answer, for once.

He makes sure his voice sounds acceptably bored when he says, “Yo.”

_“Kent? Kent! Hi!”_

“Did you actually have something to say, or are we just exchanging summer greetings?” asks Kent cooly.

 _”Kenny,”_ sighs Jack. _”What are we even fighting over anymore?”_

“We’re not fighting,” Kent replies. “We’re in total agreement that you’re a terrible person who doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

Jack laughs.

Kent wasn’t entirely joking.

After a moment, Jack continues the conversation with, _“My dad asked after you.”_

“Tell him I died.”

 _”...Kent.”_ Jack’s voice is heavy with disappointment.

“What? What does he care, anyway?”

_”Of course he cares! You billeted with us all that time, you were like fam—”_

“Fuck you,” Kent snarls, and he hangs up. He stares at his phone and watches as the little clock changes from 22:21 to 22:22. He calls Jack back. “I just want to reiterate that you’re a terrible person who doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

 _”I know,”_ says Jack. He sounds tired. He doesn’t even try to start the argument over which of them is the most terrible and least deserving of forgiveness, and Kent can’t help but be grateful for that. Kent always loses that fight. _”But I miss my friend, man.”_

Kent doesn’t answer. He drops back on his couch and stares up at his ceiling.

_”Kent?”_

“I miss my friend, too,” Kent whispers finally.

_“Come stay with me next month before training camp. Bitty will be here, so it won’t get weird.”_

“...How is that supposed to make it less weird? If anything, that makes it way weirder!”

_”Bitty knows how to defuse a tense situation. He’s like a pro at it.”_

“He hates me.”

_”Do you blame him? All he knows about you is that you came all the way to Samwell to bitch me out that one time, and also that you bulldozed another hockey player in a shit move just so you could beat me. Oh, and not to mention that we used to date.”_

“Used to? Don’t tell me he dumped you already.”

_“What? No, I meant—I meant you and me, obviously.”_

“When was this? I don’t remember you taking me on a single fucking date.”

_”Well, I mean, we couldn’t, could we?”_

Kent’s stomach clenches unpleasantly. “I’ll stay with you guys, fine.”

_”Kent—”_

“Bye, Jack.” Kents dumps his phone, snags Kit from where she’s creeping along the windowsill behind the curtains, and hugs her close as she squirms and meows against him.

He hears the chimes of texts coming in, and he sighs into Kit’s soft fur and finally releases her.

 **Jack Zimmermann** : Did you want to?  
**Jack Zimmermann** : I thought you were even more invested in the closet thing than I was

Kent taps out _Good NIGHT, jack_ and turns his phone on silent.

\---

Eric Bittle smiles at Kent with all his teeth and only makes Kent _two_ pies with the air of someone who is bestowing a dire punishment.

Kent has a new philosophical question to pose to the world: Who’s the bigger dumbass—the dumbass who says ‘it won’t be awkward!’ or the dumbass who listens to him?

Still, no matter his anger, Bittle doesn’t seem to have it in him to be cruel, and when Kent forgets to be jealous, he feels charmed instead.

Bitty vanishes one afternoon—for pie ingredients, Kent suspects—and Kent and Jack sit on the sofa and stare blankly at the TV together.

Kent feels it the moment Jack’s attention starts to fixate, and for a moment, he’s not sure what he should do. Should he wait for Bittle to come home and pull Jack out of his zone?

Kent quickly decides that that’s stupid. Most of the ways he used to wake Jack up from a zone were too intimate for friends, but that’s fine. He’d rather use Plan B right now anyway. He punches Jack in the shoulder, none too gently. “Oi, _jack_ ass.” He feels Jack’s mind stutter, just a little, and he smirks. “Hey, wanna listen to me practise for open mike?”

He only makes it through two verses of Toxic before Jack is awake enough to try to smother him with a cushion.

For all its awkwardness, the trip passes by quickly and pleasantly enough. The day he’s due to fly back to Vegas, Kent wakes up absurdly early in the morning and creates a massive spread of breakfast scones and muffins and crepes.

“I know it’s not nearly as good as what you can do,” Kent tells Bittle. In this, he is being unfortunately honest, which rankles. He usually considers himself to be a damn good baker and cook, but there’s no competing here. “I just wanted to give you a break on my last day, you know, to thank you for letting me stay here.”

Jack looks pleased. Bittle, of course, has correctly interpreted this as a territory violation, and his smile is stiff with forced politeness.

Bittle looks even more upset when he tries one of Kent’s scones. “It’s very good,” he admits grudgingly.

“Oh, do you like it?” asks Kent sweetly. “Do you want the recipe?”

Bittle’s eye twitches.

\---

The preseason finally begins, and Kent can finally, finally play hockey again.

He continues to keep in contact with Jack, and he even makes an effort to keep in touch with Bittle, liking his tweets, sending him congratulations when the Samwell hockey team wins their games, and passing on weird and interesting recipes when he finds them. Bittle responds mostly in kind, though his enthusiasm seems the most genuine when he’s commenting on Kit’s tweets.

He’s laughing with Jack on the phone one day when Jack’s voice is replaced by another. His heart stops and his stomach clenches before he even consciously recognises Mashkov’s voice begging for pie.

 _He thinks he’s talking to Bittle,_ Kent realises, and the stab of jealousy is sharper than he’s felt for a long time.

He sets Mashkov straight, and they even manage a little teasing conversation before Jack retrieves his phone.

 _”Sorry about that, man,”_ says Jack.

“It’s no problem,” Kent replies, trying to sound nonchalant. “Does Mashkov spend a lot of time around Bittle, then?”

_”I guess? I mean, not really, but when Bitty comes up, Tater usually manages to wrangle a few pies under the guise of a friendly visit.”_

Jack sounds fond. Not at all like someone who’s concerned that his boyfriend and Guide might be receiving undue attentions from a rival. But then, Jack was always kind of a moron when it came to these things, so he probably wouldn’t even notice.

Bittle would notice, though, and he would put a stop to it. Bittle has eyes for no one but Jack.

_”Kent? You still there?”_

“Yeah,” says Kent. He hesitates for a moment. “Listen, I know—I know the team specialists didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but do you think Bittle could keep an eye on Mashkov? It’s just, the doctors didn’t notice anything when you—I mean, they might not be able to catch anything if it’s not in the moment, you know, and—”

 _”Kent, calm down,”_ says Jack. He doesn’t sound angry, like Kent is overstepping again. He sounds—warm, maybe. _”I’ll ask Bitty to keep an eye on Tater. I will, too. Thanks, man.”_

Kent licks his lips nervously. He doesn’t _like_ the thought of sweet, adorable Eric Bittle looking after Mashkov, which is just so extremely stupid. He’s barely met the guy, and it wasn’t under the best of circumstances when he did meet him. There’s no reason he should be feeling so… possessive, or whatever this was.

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Great.”

_”Are we still on to hang out after the game on Saturday? I won’t even rub my win in your face too much.”_

“Dream on,” says Kent drily. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

And Mashkov, Kent realises as he hangs up. He’ll see Mashkov on Saturday, too, if only at the game.

He reminds himself as he prepares for bed that he’s way too mature to stay up all night looking up how to flirt in Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next / last chapter will be up 17 April. See you then!


	2. A Tale to Cure Deafness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

_"Your tale, sir, would cure deafness."_ — Act 1, Scene 2

Jack’s team—and the world overall, really—took Jack’s coming out so _well_. Kent has wondered near obsessively if the same would be true for him. He has always suspected not.

Something comes over him in the locker room after a win against the Bruins, though. Maybe it’s the high from the win. Maybe it’s knowing that he’ll be playing Jack—and Mashkov—the next day.

“Hey, guys,” Kent says, trying to keep his voice casual. He must not manage it, because everyone in the room goes quiet and turns to their captain, cheerful and attentive. “I think I’m gay for a Russian giant.”

If the room was quiet before, now it’s eerily silent. Everyone is watching the three Russian members, who seem to be having a full conversation between them with their eyebrows.

Finally, Smirnov says, “You say in locker room, so I think, is maybe not us?” He gestures between himself, Petrov, and Sokolov.

Kent lets his head fall against his locker. “No, none of you, oh my god.”

The majority of the room seems to lose interest in the conversation once the possibility of an intra-team romance vanishes. The three Russians only seem more invested in the speculation.

“Maybe it’s Sasha?” suggests Petrov thoughtfully. “Or Zhenya.”

Smirnov looks at Petrov oddly. “No, of course not Zhenya—he is not Sentinel!”

“I’m talking about the other Zhenya!” says Petrov, rolling his eyes. “He’s a Sentinel, and he said the Captain helped him with a zone before!”

“Wait, what?” asks Kent. “I have definitely not helped anyone out of a zone-out, especially not anyone named Zhenya. Who is Zhenya?”

“You know,” says Smirnov. “Is how we call Evgeny. Kutzy, he is playing on the Caps, yes? He say he zone out before game, you there, you help.”

“Oh. I was there, I guess, but I don’t think I really did anything.”

The Russians exchange a fond head shake around him.

“What?” says Kent. “I didn’t!”

“ _Anyway_.” Smirnov waves a hand dismissively. “Is not Zhenya or Sasha—not big enough for giant.”

Unexpectedly, Sokolov speaks up. “Captain is so small, all Russians are giants,” he says in his quiet voice. “Could be any Russian Sentinel.”

Kent flushes red as the Russians explode into laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters petulantly. Something occurs to him then. “Wait, why are you saying that about Sentinels?”

Sokolov blinks at him, surprised. “You are Guide,” he says, hesitant. “So you look for Sentinel, yes?”

“No way,” Kent laughs. “That’s not how it works at all!”

For the first time in this strange conversation, the Russians seem distinctly uncomfortable. Kent doesn’t understand how the suggestion that he likes men blew over so shockingly easily, but the idea of him dating a man who’s not a Sentinel seems to have them stumped.

“So,” says Petrov. “He’s not a Sentinel? He’s… he is another Guide, maybe?” His face looks blank in a way that suggests that keeping it calm is taking a great deal of effort.

“Is fine,” says Smirnov. “Captain like who Captain like.” But he’s carefully not looking at Kent when he says it.

“Yes,” Kent replies firmly. “I am going to like whomever I like, and that’s totally fine.” He grabs his tie and knots it loosely around his throat. “He is a Sentinel, though. _Coincidentally_.”

Smirnov, Petrov, and Sokolov all look extremely relieved. “Yes,” says Petrov. “Just a coincidence. No big deal either way.”

“Not Zhenya from Capitals or Zhenya from Penguins,” says Smirnov, already back to his previous musings. “Maybe Zhenya from Panthers?”

“Oh my— _no_ , he’s not a Zhenya! He is none of the millions of Zhenyas! He’s—I mean, I was talking about Mashkov. On the Falcs.” He hunches his shoulders a little and grabs his jacket.

“Oooh,” says Smirnov. “Alyosha! Yes, good, he is good Sentinel. And no girlfriend! Or— boyfriend.”

“We’ll talk to him, get the word on what he thinks of you,” Petrov tells him. “We’ve got your back, Captain.”

“No, no, no, don’t do that! I already know he hates me. It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just thought you guys should know that I—I mean, I just wanted to tell you about me. I mean, about—liking guys. You don’t need to talk to Mashkov about anything, it’s no big deal.”

“I ask Zhenya now,” says Sokolov, waving his phone. “He is saying Sasha tells him other Zhenya says Alyosha thinks the Captain is cute but little bit mean.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Kent says, hiding his face in his hands.

“What?” says Smirnov, offended. “Captain is nicest! Why is he think that?” He pulls out his phone, too, and taps aggressively.

He knew coming out to his team would be a disaster, but this is not the disaster he was expecting.

“You okay?” asks Jeff quietly from behind him..

Kent looks down. “Yeah,” he says, smiling helplessly. “I think I’m kind of...great.”

\---

_I told my team_ , Kent texts to Jack.

 **Jack Zimmermann** : ?  
 **Jack Zimmermann** : Hey do you know where my spare headphones are?  
 **Jack Zimmermann** : Never mind, Bitty found them

For fuck’s sake.

_I told my team_ , Kent texts to Bittle.

**Eric Bittle** : Oh, I’m so glad!!  
 **Eric Bittle** : How did it go?!  
 **Eric Bittle** : You’re coming over after the game this weekend, right? I’ll make some pie

_I seriously don’t know how Jack survived until he had you to take care of him_ , Kent texts back, and then he settles in for some well-earned gossip.

\---

“Hey,” says Jeff. His mysterious ability to track Kent down seems to have worked yet again. Kent fiddles with his snapback nervously as Jeff slides into the seat across from him, drink already in hand. “The team seemed pretty okay with it, right?”

Kent had never told Jeff, either. Jeff’s reaction was the one Kent was the least concerned over, and as Kent’s closest friend, he had probably deserved to be the first to know. And yet, Kent had never considered pulling Jeff aside for a quick confession and a supportive back slap.

“Yeah. Hey, man, I know I could have said something sooner, but…”

Jeff doesn’t smile at him, but nothing in his expression looks antagonistic, either. Kent isn’t sure how to read his face, so he looks away. Jeff waits for a moment, as though expecting Kent to finish his thought, but eventually he says, “I’m just glad you’ve said something now. I already knew, and I’m pretty sure you assumed that I knew and was fine with it.”

Kent had.

When Kent still says nothing, Jeff nods and starts to stand up. “I just wanted to check in with you,” he says, and Kent knows suddenly that he doesn’t want Jeff to leave. Maybe he had even come here, to this anonymous bar in its anonymous neighbourhood, hoping Jeff would find him.

“I’m starting to realise,” he starts. Jeff stills immediately, and Kent has to pause as his throat closes up with nerves. Jeff waits him out with no sign of impatience. “I’m starting to realise, sometimes you need to say things, you know? You knew about me, and I knew that you knew about me, but maybe that’s not enough.”

Jeff finally smiles at him, and he sinks back down. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Kent. He feels unexpectedly relieved. He could have stayed silent, and Jeff would have left, and he and Jeff would have stayed friends, and everything would have been fine. But Kent is slowing becoming aware of the fact that he can maybe do better than fine, even at things that aren’t hockey. “Yeah, like—Jack knew things about me, and I knew things about him, and we both knew that the other knew, but now it’s turning out that some of the things that we knew were wrong. Mostly on his end, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jeff laughs.

“So I guess, maybe some of this stuff that we always assume about everyone needs to be said out loud. So, uh, I’m gay. I used to be with Jack. It was probably nothing serious, but I thought it was. Now I’m into Mashkov, so I guess I have a thing for tall guys who think I’m trash. And I never thought I was a Guide until I met Jack, but I always wanted to be one. And then I turned out to suck at it, which I am really sensitive about but pretend I’m not.”

Jeff is still smiling at him, his eyes soft.

“Well?” demands Kent, fidgeting. “Anything shocking in all that?”

“No,” admits Jeff. “I knew or guessed all of that, but I’m glad you told me.”

Kent lets himself relax back against the booth wall behind him. “I think I’m glad, too. Anyway, I have something else to tell you, and I bet this is new.”

Jeff leans forward on his elbows. “Hit me,” he says, grinning.

Kent leans forward, too. “I think those fucking pretentious craft brews you always order taste just like every other horse piss beer on the planet, and you’re wasting your money when you could be drinking Busch or Keystone, and it’d be the same fucking thing.”

“Sorry, Kent,” Jeff tells him, taking a swig of his bullshit brew, “I already knew that, too.”

Kent sniffs disdainfully.

“But just to return the favour, I want to confess something to you, too. Did you know you can just go to the store and buy punch off the shelves, and it tastes just like your 30-dollar cocktails?” Jeff jabs a finger towards Kent’s drink.

Kent shrugs. “Yeah, probably,” he says agreeably. “But then it wouldn’t sparkle.” He twirls his glass to demonstrate, and Jeff snorts.

“Touché,” Jeff says, and then everything is just like normal, but better.

\---

Bittle, Jack, and even George have told Kent repeatedly that there hasn’t been any evidence that Mashkov has been flaring up, be it his hearing or any other sense.

Kent is finally starting to believe that he really did imagine the whole thing when Mashkov takes a hit from Smirnov—”I want him to know, he is not getting away with calling Captain bad names!”—and the world seems to implode around him.

“Back the fuck off,” Kent snarls at the refs who try to block his path to his Sentinel. Kent didn’t hear the whistle, but he’s distantly aware that the game has stopped, and the players are being herded off the ice as a medical team makes their way on. Kent shoves his way roughly past the refs and almost makes it to Mashkov before they grab him by the back of his jersey and start to pull him away.

By then, it’s too late.

Mashkov’s hand shot out blindly as soon as Kent came into reach, and despite the ref’s best efforts, they can’t loosen it from where it’s clamped onto Kent’s arm with bruising force.

“Mashkov—” “Tater—” they cajole, “You have to let go.”

But they’re speaking too loudly to a Sentinel whose enhanced hearing just went live—are they fucking idiots?—and Kent would scream in frustration if that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“You morons,” he hisses at them, finally managing to tug his jersey away from them and wrap his free arm around Mashkov’s slumped shoulders. “The noise is still hurting his ears, even if he’s mostly in the zone. You have to shut the fuck up.”

The refs don’t shut up, but there’s a good chance that they didn’t even hear Kent, given how quietly he had to speak. One of the approaching medics, a Sentinel, _does_ hear Kent, and it only takes her one quick glance at the way Mashkov is curled up into Kent before she chases the refs away.

“We have a safe room in the clinic,” she tells Kent. Her voice is so soft that he can barely make it out. “If he can keep holding onto your arm, do you think we’ll be able to get him there?”

“Yes,” Kent whispers back. Of course they’ll have no problem getting Mashkov to the safe room. He wonders how anyone could think differently.

There’s a bad moment when the medics try to urge Mashkov onto the gurney and he nearly lashes out at them, but Kent gives him a sharp rap on his shoulder and orders him, sotto voce, to fucking behave himself, and after that, the move goes smoothly. Mashkov tenses and twitches with every jolt of the gurney, but he relaxes every time Kent coos at him to “chill the fuck out” and “stop being a fucking idiot.” The Sentinel medic gives Kent an amused look, which he thinks is unfair. This might not be approved Guiding protocol, but it’s working, isn’t it?

Jack and Bittle meet them at the safe room, and Kent’s stomach sinks when he catches sight of the other, better Guide. 

He helps get Mashkov transferred to the hospital bed, and then he sighs and gestures for Bittle to come closer. “Here,” he says, gently trying to extract his arm from Mashkov’s iron grip. “You take him, and I’ll just—”

Mashkov _tugs_ and Kent tumbles down onto the bed beside him.

“Wha—” Kent flounders as Bittle giggles helplessly beside him. “I thought Sentinels in the zone were supposed to be fucking comotose.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Bittle replies, but his mild tone is undermined by the way he can’t seem to bite back his smirky grin.

“Is it,” says Kent drily. He curls closer to Mashkov despite himself as Bittle looks on approvingly. “What now?”

“Now, you… get his attention,”1 Bittle says delicately. Jack snorts.

Kent rolls his eyes and gingerly lifts his free arm around Mashkov’s shoulders to give him a shake. When that doesn’t produce any noticeable results, he begins flicking his fingers sharply against Mashkov’s face and neck.

“Ah, yes, this method of Guiding seems very familiar to me,” Jack snarks as Bitty gasps in indignitation.

“You are welcome to take over,” Kent lies, twisting his head around to scowl at them.

Jack smirks at him. “Nah, it looks like you’ve got it covered, Kenny.” Bittle appears ready to violently disagree, but then both Kent and and Bittle startle as a flicker of awareness washes over them.

“Oh!” says Bittle, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Jack asks, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s Tater,” Bittle explains softly. “He’s coming out of it.”

Kent can’t look at them, and he can’t speak. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he doesn’t know what to do other than to hold onto Mashkov as tightly as he can.

Mashkov’s eyes open, and Kent feels—

He feels a lot.

\---

After Mashkov is settled, after the medics release him, after everyone has agreed to freshen up and then find each other for dinner, Kent pulls Mashkov aside.

“Is there a place we can talk? Just the two of us?” he asks, not looking at Mashkov.

Mashkov nods slowly and tugs Kent along behind him. He leads them to an empty training room and nudges Kent down onto a bench before he settles beside him, not quite touching.

They sit together in silence for what seems like an eternity, both of them staring blankly at the weight-lifting equipment in front of them.

Kent may have come to terms with the fact that some things need to be talked through, but that doesn’t mean that Kent wants to be the first to speak. Kent shouldn’t _have_ to be the first to speak.

Now that Mashkov has three enhanced senses, he’ll want a Guide. Someone better than Kent. Or maybe just anyone except for Kent. He’ll explain this to Kent, and then he’ll promise to be friends, and they actually probably will be. It’s not the worst rejection Kent has ever faced, but that doesn’t mean that _he_ as the _rejectee_ should have to be the one to bring up the topic.

Anyway, if Kent speaks first, then Mashkov will be forced to object weakly, and then Kent will have to _argue to be rejected_ and that’s just not okay.

But still, Mashkov doesn’t speak.

Well, fine.

“You don’t want me,” Kent tells Mashkov seriously. His neck twinges as he looks up to meet Mashkov’s eyes. “I don’t Guide the right way.”

Mashkov is biting his lip, but it looks less like he’s trying to hold back a polite protest and more like he’s trying not to laugh. “There is right way to Guide? What is this?”

“Oh, you know. The whole thing. I don’t know the chants or the mediation guides or the words we’re supposed to say or do or whatever.”

“The words? The guides?”

“You know, to help you get control of your senses. Like, ‘Be not afeared,’ we’re supposed to say. ‘The isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.’ You know, to get Sentinels comfortable with their scary new superpowers.”

“I’m not know, but sounds like you do. If you know, how are you not Guiding the right way?”

“I don’t know them! That’s just the one that came to mind, that I managed to actually retain! I don’t know any of the right methods or the right things to say, and even if I did, I think they’re stupid!”

“If they’re stupid, maybe they’re not working. Even if they’re working, maybe the words is too weird to me. Unless they’re in Russian. You learn Russian Guiding for me, Kent Parson?”

Kent scowls and pulls out his best Russian from his recent Google sprees. “тьфу на тебя.”2

Mashkov pinches Kent’s cheeks. “Accent is so bad, so cute,” he coos, laughing his stupid laugh.

Kent scowls harder to keep from pouting.

Mashkov’s warm eyes drift from Kent’s eyes to his mouth and back again. His hands stay cupped around Kent’s face, fingers stroking gently now instead of pinching. Kent shivers.

“So?” he asks.

Mashkov huffs out a laugh, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “So what?”

“ _So_ , do you want me as your Guide or not?” he snaps. He feels twitchy with impatience and nerves, and he just wants this rejection to be over with already. Then he can go back to his teammates, who all support him even when they think Kent’s being weird, and Jeff, who stands by him even when he thinks Kent’s being stupid, and Jack and Bitty, who protect Kent even when they think he’s being unkind, and Kit, who snuggles with him even when she thinks Kent is being an uncomfortable cat bed.

He never had a place to go back to post rejection, but now he does, and he’s not as afraid anymore. It’ll happen, it’ll hurt, and then there will be drinks and hugs and pies and cuddles enough to keep him afloat. He’ll be fine this time.

“ _You_ say I’m not want you for my Guide,” replies Mashkov, still amused. “ _I’m_ never say. Maybe now I’m thinking you don’t want me for your Sentinel.”

Mashkov is just teasing, but Kent stiffens up anyway. “Of course I want you,” he bites out, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the shame of it all. “I obviously fucking want you.”

Mashkov’s breath hitches very slightly, and his fingers freeze on Kent’s face for a moment before returning to their gentle motion. “It’s not obvious,” he says. “Not for me.”

“Well, I do.”

“I’m never wanting a Guide before,” says Mashkov meditatively. “I meet many Guides, and I think they’re okay for other Sentinels, but they’re not for me. You see?”

“Yes,” Kent whispers.

“But then I meet Bitty,” Mashkov continues, and Kent feels his sick. Of fucking _course_. “I meet Bitty, and I think, maybe Guide is okay if it is the right Guide. Bitty is not for me”—Kent nearly sags, and Mashkov tsks at him and dunks down to drop a kiss into his hair. ”Bitty is not for me,” he repeats firmly, “but he makes me think maybe. Maybe there is Guide who is for me.”

Mashkov finally removes his hands from Kent’s face, but instead he wraps them around Kent’s body and tucks Kent into his chest. Kent shivers. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands. Should he hug Mashkov back? But he doesn’t know if that’s okay, so he leaves them hanging stupidly at his side.

“But then I meet you,” Mashkov whispers into Kent’s hair. “I meet you, Kent Parson, and I think you are not a Guide. Or maybe you are Guide for rats. Rat Guide.”

At least now Kent knows what to do with his hands. He smacks roughly Mashkov in his side, and Mashkov sniggers.

“Now, I don’t know that you are good Guide or bad Guide or good Guide for rats only. But I think you are good person. And I think you make me be a good person, too. So yes, Kent Parson. Yes, I want you.”

At this point, Kent definitely doesn’t cry even a little. Later, when Jack raises his eyebrows at the wet spot on Mashkov’s shirt, Mashkov tells him it’s drool, and thus he earns himself another bruise.

And then there are drinks, and hugs, and pies, and cuddles, and through it all, Mashkov keeps his arm wrapped around Kent’s shoulders, and Kent, who is not blushing at all no matter what anyone says, deigns to let him.

\---

There are at least three things everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson: (1) If he’s going to be a Guide, he’s going to do it his own way, and (2) If he’s going to have a boyfriend or Sentinel or soul mate or whatever, he’s going to do that his own way, too, and (3) Anyone who has anything to say about any of that can just fuck right off.

To be fair, most people already seem to have figured that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1 – "Now you... get his attention":** Pop culture likes to claim that the best method of awakening a zoned Sentinel is a kiss from a compatible Guide—or, to some, the Sentinel's "true" Guide. The evidence in favour of the True Guide Kiss is entirely anecdotal, but the myth still persists, as it has for centuries. One of the earliest records of the story can be found in an old folktale about a Sentinel Princess whose Touch sense was so powerful that a prick on her finger as a teenager was enough to send her into an impenetrable zone that could only be lifted by a kiss from her True Guide. Whether this event actually took place is the cause for much debate in academic circles. On one hand, experts in the field of Sentinel and Guide dynamics have hesitantly confirmed that it is possible for a touch sensitivity as extreme as the one described to exist, and such sensitivity would certainly require an extremely compatible Guide to help the Sentinel make their way through life without severe zones. On the other hand, the story also mentions dragons.
> 
> **2 – тьфу на тебя:** I am [led to believe](https://www.thoughtco.com/russian-idioms-4178475) that this is a Russian idiom meaning “I spit on you.”


End file.
